


The Things She Does

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feeding Kink, Weight Gain, belly stuffing, but gently, fat appreciation, feederism, funnel feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Prompt: Sherlock needs Molly to look genuinely pregnant in a couple of weeks, in order to pass her off as his expecting wife for a case. His target is a murdering doctor, so padding won't do. Molly reluctantly agrees to let Sherlock feed her; with a couple of days to go, times running out and her belly isn't big or round enough. So Sherlock resorts to funnel & tube. They both end up enjoying it a little too much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so this kind of grew up into a decently sized fic with possibly a sequel on the way! haha It was my first time writing Sherlolly and funnel feeding so any feedback is much appreciated. Peace and belly love to all.

To be fair, it wasn't exactly the oddest request she'd ever heard. Molly had handed over a bag of severed thumbs more than once. She'd even promised to keep a freshly stabbed spleen on ice and then text him exactly how many drips were possible before the blood froze.

Oh, the things she did for Sherlock Holmes.

This time though, she was sure she had heard something wrong.

"Wait... what?" asked Molly, blinking in confusion. She did sometimes zone out when he was talking. It wasn't her fault, he just always spoke so fast and his voice was so soothing and deep and oh hang on he was talking again.

Sherlock had rolled his eyes and looked distinctly put upon.

"I need you to convincingly impersonate my pregnant wife."

"You... you don't have a pregnant wife."

"No. Which means you can clearly see why I require your assistance," drawled Sherlock, flopping down in a chair and putting his feet on the work top. He raised an eyebrow that seems scientifically calculated to melt her will to butter. "Will you help me, Molly?"

Molly swallowed, considering it a bit. "Umm... yeah. Okay. What do I have to do?"

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed, jumping to his feet again so suddenly that he startled her, "Merely accompany me at the first of next month. We have an appointment with Dr. Simpson. You'll be five months along and very concerned with the state of the child."

"Oh okay, so I'll need some-some padding then?" asked Molly, "What exactly did this doctor do then? Is he the client."

"Oh no, not at all. He's a highly cunning and dangerous murderer," answered Sherlock, looking positively gleeful at the prospect.

"Great," said Molly, dryly.

"But he is a licensed doctor," continued Sherlock, his eyes snapping back to Molly and making her feel as though she were glued to the spot or maybe more likely caught in some sort of retraction beam. "He will be able to tell padding from human flesh in a single glance. Pre-natal medicine is his speciality."

"Not the one you usually see in dangerous murderers."

"No," rumbled Sherlock, and a small genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, "It does however mean, as I said, that your disguise needs to be incredibly convincing. We can't just walk in with one of those false bellies and hope Simpson won't notice."

"So what's that mean?" asked Molly, feeling an odd thrill rush through her at the look in Sherlock's eyes.

"Hope you've got an appetite," said Sherlock, hauling a bag of takeaway boxes up from the floor and setting them on the table.

Molly stared at them, eyes wide. There was no way she'd even be able to-but she didn't want-

"Is this some sort of joke?" she demanded, suddenly furious, glaring up at Sherlock.

The detective took a step back, his eyes darting around her face as if to deduce if he were in danger of being slapped.

"No, it's for a case, as I was telling you," he said, rummaging in his pocket for evidence. "Here, the email. I wouldn't lie to you, Molly Hooper."

Molly pursed her lips but took Sherlock's phone, eyes scanning the correspondence. Her eyes flicked back up to Sherlock's, their icy blue blinking back innocently, just waiting.

"He's killed three patients..."

"Yes. He's good. Only one was put down as malpractice. The other two are labeled as natural causes. It's going to be dangerous, Molly. I wouldn't ask it of you , but you're the only one I can trust in this," said Sherlock, and for once he sounds genuine, not just trying to get into her drawers. Er, the mortuary drawers. He hasn't shown any interesting getting into her actual drawars. Molly shakes her head. Focus. She bites her lip.

"Okay. Let's get him locked up before he hurts someone else."

Sherlock smiled. "My thoughts exactly. Chicken or pork?"

It turned out to be a question of which first as Molly was given the second option immediately after finishing the first. She muffled a small burp daintily behind her fingers, then gazed in horror at the container of sweet and sour pork that Sherlock slid her way.

"Sherlock, I don't think I can..."

"Yes you can. The average adult human stomach can expand to hold up to four liters of food," said Sherlock, popping the lid off neatly and handing her a fork and a napkin.

"Well, yes, I know that," said Molly, accepting the fork that was pressed back into her hand, "But..."

"We only have two weeks, Molly, we can't afford to do this slowly," the detective rumbled, nudging the food towards her.

"Oh, right. Okay then."

She took a deep breath, already feeling really very full and then set to work on the next portion. She just hoped her skirt would hold up or things would get even more awkward than they always seemed to be around Sherlock. Then somehow that portion vanished as well, along with a pint of white rice and two spring rolls. Molly felt sure she would have to lay down for the rest of the day. Sherlock was kind enough to help her to a more comfortable chair before he left.

"Thank you for your help, Molly. I can't do this without you. Be sure to eat a good breakfast and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" exclaimed Molly, clutching her aching belly in panic at the thought of eating even more.

Sherlock's eyes flicked back to her. "Oh yes. As I said, time is not on our side for this one. Same hour?"

"Er yeah. Okay."

Then he was gone and Molly flopped back. She popped the button on her skirt open and sighed as the zipper slid down a bit. She could breath again.

Tomorrow came, and then the day after and so on for the rest of the week. Each day Sherlock would turn up with a new stack of takeaway containers for her and then watch intently as she ate every last bite. He'd reward her with a smile or some other sort of compliment and always and honest thank you. More often than not they seemed sincere. He also chatted with her about the case while she ate. He still refused to take a single bite, insisting it was all for her. When the weekend came, Sherlock turned up at her door and demonstrated cooking skills she never would have expected him to have. It was lucky she was still in her jimjams to be honest. She felt so bloated she could hardly move after a full English, several Bakewell tarts, fresh chips and butties for lunch, biscuits and tea and a pasta dish for dinner. She wasn't sure if she had imagined it but she felt sure he had kissed her... her cheek or was it her forehead? before he left her to lapse into a food coma.

The effects weren't long in arriving of course. Her stomach felt constantly swollen and bloated as if she really was pregnant. She took to wearing some of her looser blouses and work trousers but they still bit into her growing belly. Thankfully Sherlock had noticed. He brought maternity clothing with her double order of fish and chips on Tuesday. She blushed crimson, but she was undeniably more comfortable.

Their appointment with Dr. Simpson loomed ever nearer and Molly found herself eating more and more. Perhaps it was nerves, perhaps it was wanting to do well for Sherlock. She couldn't be sure. He was giving her rather soft warm looks now whenever he saw her. He even seemed to be touching her more, placing a hand on her hip or waist, brushing her shoulders. He was likely just getting in character but... some small part of her, and it made her blush even more to think it, was enjoying this. Very much.

And then quite suddenly, it was May the 31st. Sherlock was coming by for dinner, but Molly was fretting. She was worried that she wasn't anywhere near big enough to pass for five months pregnant. Maybe when stuffed completely, but... She looked down at her belly, frowning at it where it ballooned out beneath her breasts, tugging the soft material of her dress with it. She heard a faint rumbled and rubbed it absently. Not to worry. Sherlock would be here soon. She flopped down on her small sofa, hearing the springs creak a bit and flipping on the telly. She continued to absently trail her fingers around the soft, bulging shape.

Finally, there was a knock at the door and Molly got to her feet with a soft grunt, bustling to answer it. She couldn't help but smile.

"Sherlock! Thank God, I'm star-what is that?" Her eyes had fallen on something that sent a jolt of panic through her. Was that panic or something else? That weird swoopy thing that made her cheeks burn. Oh wait Sherlock was talking.

"You brought... a funnel?" said Molly, still not sure how she felt. Well, scared, impressed, and... intrigued.

"Yes, as I said, it seems to be the most effective way to deliver the maximum amount of calories over a short period of time, " said Sherlock, with a grin that was just bordering on unsettling. Molly stepped aside to let him in anyway. She followed him, hand on her belly again as she watched him unpack food items from the bags he'd brought. It looked to be loads of ice cream, full fat cream, chocolate and strawberry syrups, some odd shakes. Molly took one of them and felt her heart jump to her throat as she read the label. It was advertised as helping to increase weight gain.

"Worried about tomorrow then," said Molly, her voice rather small.

Sherlock ceased his rustling and looked over at her. His features melted into kindness. "Yes," he admitted, "For both our sakes, it's vital." There was that hand again, big and warm, rubbing at her back. She smiled softly, then looked back over at him and cracked open the seal on the shake. "Best get started then. Who knows! Might-might even be sort of fun!"

Molly didn't know if she'd ever seen Sherlock look flabbergasted, or flushed. But here he was. The look didn't go away as she through her head back and chugged the stuff down. She heard a bit of a groan but didn't know who it had come from. She hoped it wasn't Sherlock's mobile again.

Somehow they ended up in Molly's bedroom to try out the funnel, something about being able to obtain the correct angle. He directs her methodically to lay back. She knows all of this of course. She's taken more courses in human anatomy than she cares to recall, but she's nervous, and Sherlock's soft voice and big hands are soothing. The tube bit is a bit unpleasant, but they work out that together as well. Then they're in place and Sherlock reaches for the first pitcher of cream and whatever other things he's mixed in to make her grow, swell... fatten. She pants around the tube in her mouth, her legs rubbing together, plump thighs squirming. Her bleary gaze meets Sherlock's for a moment. He looks... lost almost. His breath is faster than usual. There's a flush on his cheeks and a quiver to his otherwise steady hands as he lifts the pitcher to the funnel. His lips part and his fingers slip to touch them as Molly whimpers and squirms at the first entry of whatever substance he's feeding her.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice deep and husky. Molly closes her eyes and finds her rhythm, hardly having to swallow even as she feels her stomach fill. Her toes curl. She gives him the thumbs up. Sherlock smiles and pours the rest of the pitcher down slowly.

"1.5 liters at approximately 3000 calories a liter," he rumbles, picking up the second pitcher. Molly feels panic rise again in her chest, but she doesn't dare move in case she dislodges their apparatus. She merely whimpers in acknowledgement and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling a bolt of pleasure rush through her. She hears something like Sherlock swallowing, feels the mattress depress, and then more of that fatty concoction is being poured down her throat, into her belly which already feels tight and round. pushing and pulling at her dress.

"That's... that's roughly 9000 calories," comes Sherlock's voice, sounding strained, "Oh, God... Molly."

She whimpers and whines, eyes squeezed shut, full round belly rising as she arches up. Suddenly there are fingers tracing the arch of her belly through her dress and that makes her eyes roll back as all her tightly stretched nerves sing. "MMmrrrph, Sherlock," She manages around the tubing. The fingers freeze, then spread and turn into a definite caress. She tilts her head as far as she dares and feels her breath catch as he looks at her with half-lidded eyes. She flicks her gaze to the last pitcher, carefully measured to a single final liter. Sherlock swallows visibly, pupils blown wide.

Molly makes a small encouraging noise, her feet now rubbing together. Then there is a slow stream of Sherlock's fattening mixtures flowing into her. She whimpers as she feels herself expand, grow, the material of her dress stretching tighter and tighter around the rounding ball that is her stomach. She grows and grows, fills, and fills until she feels like she could burst. She cries out between swallows, trying to arch, but too full to move. Then the last drops are gone and gentle long fingered hands are carefully removing the tubing, wiping her mouth clean. Then there are lips on hers and they are perfectly soft. She sighs, her hands wandering down to rub at her swollen belly. A larger one joins them, rubbing slowly and gently.

She burps, and is too full and sated to bother muffling it. Sherlock merely gives a rumbling chuckle.

"I'm glad we're having this baby together," Molly mutters, her breath hitching as Sherlock's big hand slipped a bit lower, dipped a thumb into her navel through the dress.

Sherlock freezes for a moment.

"You do recall... you're not actually pregnant, Molly."

She snorts and chuckles until her full stomach forces her to stop.

"I know that you big idiot."

Then Sherlock's lips are back, first at her mouth with utmost gentleness, then all down her swollen body.

Oh, the things she did for Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long time coming part two! Molly and Sherlock arrive for Dr. Simpson's appointment. And Molly thinks she might enjoy having this new belly sticking around. Please note that Dr. Simpson might cause some discomfort if you don't like people touching you. Just so you're aware. :)

Molly lifted herself out of the cab with a grunt and a helpful hand from Sherlock. She still felt full. And really very round. She muffled a burp as she straightened, a hand cupping her belly which felt frankly enormous. True, she was full of a hearty breakfast and quite a bit of soda to ensure she was convincingly distended, but still. Wow.

She felt Sherlock place a long-fingered hand at the small of her back.

"Alright?" he rumbled. He was wearing spectacles and a worn tweed jacket that made him look rather like an awkwardly young physics professor.

"Yeah," said Molly, her voice rather breathy, "Just... more to haul around. Let's go."

"Ah. Of course."

She had the strangest impression that Sherlock was blushing even as he guided her to the door with care and held it open for her as she waddled in. They gave their names to the receptionist: John and Hannah Hopkins. Molly had pressed Sherlock about his choice of alias. The detective had just mumbled something about a name he could remember and avoided her eyes as he stuffed another fork full of fettuccine into her mouth. Mm... fettuccine... Maybe she could suggest Italian for dinner- but no. If all went according to plan, they'd be finished with the case tonight. No more need for Molly to make a pig out of herself. She looked sadly down at her lap where her belly was rounding into her lap. She rubbed it lightly through her flowery maternity dress.

"Hannah."

She jumped as Sherlock's voice gusted in her ear.

"Hm?"

"I'm going to take a look around. I'll be back. Not to worry." He gave her a small smile and patted her hand before getting to his feet and striding towards the sign for the loos. Molly suddenly felt very much alone. She tapped her foot as she looked around the waiting room. Nothing suspicious, just plain light blue walls and tables and chairs with magazines. A few paintings of tranquil landscapes dotted here and there to keep the room from feeling empty.

"Hopkins?" came a voice and it immediately made Molly shiver. It sounded just a touch too warm and sweet, like the sort of sick feeling that settled in the stomach after eating something far too rich. The owner of the voice was rather short for a serial killer with a large pointed nose and tiny dark brown eyes that were magnified by his own glasses. He repeated the name and Molly looked around wildly for Sherlock but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Er, yes. That's me. H-Hannah Hopkins. My husband, John, just left for the loo and-"

"No trouble, Mrs. Hopkins," said Dr. Simpson, giving her a toothy grin and holding out a hand to her, "We can get started. Miss Brown will tell him to meet with us. Although, sometimes a private appointment really is more helpful. Men can be so unsympathetic can't they?"

He gave her a conspiratorial wink that Molly forced herself to accept with a smile as she allowed him to help her up. His fingers felt like lukewarm miniature sausages.

Molly followed after him as he babbled on and lead the way down the hall to an exam room. Molly fought the impulse to keep checking behind her for Sherlock.

"Here we are. Please. Sit. Make yourself comfortable," said Dr. Simpson, smiling again and sweeping his hand towards the exam table sitting in the center. Molly scooted up onto it, her belly settling on her thighs again. She couldn't help but clutch it protectively as the doctor turned around from his charts and stepped closer.

"Now what seems to be the trouble?"

"J-Just a check up. My husband's a worrier," said Molly with a shaky laugh, "I told him some abdominal pain is to be expected. Ligaments have to stretch and everything but he just started typing things into the internet and well..."

She shrugged and gave Dr. Simpson another smile. It was easier to smile. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

"Nothing wrong with being cautious," said the doctor, baring his own teeth and stepping nearer still. He reached out and began probing Molly's side, up her rib cage, slipping along her back. Molly hated every second those fingers trailed her body. She was worried she'd be found out, of course. But his technique was all wrong. She barely repressed a shiver as Dr. Simpson moved to her belly, pressing into it lightly here and there, cupping it in a way that felt far too intimate. Molly bit her lips and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breath, thinking of Sherlock's hands instead.

"You said your husband was with you?" Dr. Simpson asked.

"Yes. He does like to wander," Molly replied, her voice tight, "Are you finished with your exam?"

"Nearly," the man answered, circling Molly's navel with his fingers. "I'll need to get you to lie back with your feet in the stirrups for a thorough exam. I have noticed a slight anomaly I need to examine more thoroughly. Excess amniotic fluid can cause all sorts of complications." Molly nodded and complied, putting her feet on the stirrups as he swung them into place and strapped her in. Her dress drifted up her thighs as she was made to spread laid against the back of the chair and felt it slowly lower until it was lying flat. She would need to think quickly. Very quickly. She frowned and turned her head as she watched the doctor rummaging in one of the cabinets.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding at the bottle that he had produced and was inserting a syringe into.

"A mild sedative. Not to worry. It won't harm the fetus," he said cheerfully, giving the filled syringe a flick, "Simply more pleasant to be under while I take a sample of the amniotic fluid."

"I don't want-"

"Best that you're comfortable, Mrs. Hopkins."

"No!" Molly shouted, grunting and trying to roll away as she kicked to free her feet from the straps. She felt him grab her arm to keep her still. She swung the other back and punched the doctor solidly in the nose. He yowled and spun away. Molly huffed and groaned, trying to bend her bloated belly enough to reach the straps keeping her feet in place.

Dr. Simpson swore loudly and turned furiously back to her, blood beginning to drip from his nose. Molly fell back panting, glaring at the murderer. The door crashed open just as he rushed at Molly a second time. The tiny room was suddenly full of shouting police officers. Greg Lestrade was among them, barking orders to restrain Dr. Simpson. Sherlock was there too, still in the tweed coat but without the glasses. He was at Molly's side in a heartbeat, releasing her, eyes roving over her.

"Are you alright? Molly?"

"Y-yeah. Just- The syringe! Get that syringe!" Molly shouted into the hubbub as she swung her legs free and wriggled off the table to pull her dress back into place. Sherlock ducked and retrieved it, bringing it over to Molly.

"There's a bottle too. He meant to inject me with- said it was a sedative but I don't think-"

"The murder weapon?" Sherlock said, considering the fluid carefully as Dr. Simpson was hauled from the room even as he ranted and railed against the officers. Lestrade stepped over and Sherlock started in on his explanation of the events and the undeniable guilt offered by Molly's bravery.

"Bit of an idiot to try anything when the woman wasn't unaccompanied," scoffed Lestrade once Sherlock finished speaking.

"He was bored. Needed a challenge," said Sherlock with a shrug, "Serial killers. Always desperate to be caught."

"Yeah. So it seems," said Lestrade with a sigh. He smiled and chuckled as he turned to Molly and nodded at her belly, "Hell of a convincing bump you've got there."

"Ha, yeah its... er," Molly began, blushing and giving her belly a pat.

"Almost looks real," Lestrade continued, still chuckling and shaking his head in wonder before looking back to Sherlock, "Look, I best be off. I'll need to have this identified fast to keep Simpson behind bars. I'll see you around. Miss Hooper, Sherlock, you'll both need to come in for testimony first thing tomorrow morning."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but Molly nodded, her cheeks still bright red, as the detective inspector hurried out of the clinic.

Molly heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against the exam table. Her belly expanded under her dress. "Well, that's that then."

"Yes. You were wonderful, Molly," said Sherlock, joining her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "I... thank you. I would never have trusted anyone else to do this."

"Oh. Well. Aside from the murderer it was fun. I was happy to," said Molly with a small squeak of laughter. She felt Sherlock's arm give her a squeeze.

"I hadn't anticipated that he would attempt to take your life," he added, more quietly still, "I am sorry. I hate that I put you in such a position I-"

"It's okay. We caught him," said Molly, looking up at Sherlock. They both fell silent. Sherlock dropped his gaze after a moment and moved away. Molly chewed her lip a moment, then followed after.

"We should celebrate," she added brightly, "Have... have dinner. I'm starving! Usually I've had lunch and at least two snacks by now."

Sherlock straightened and looked back, his lips parted for a moment. Then he wet them. Molly smiled and reached for his hand cautiously. He accepted hers, still looking down her with an unreadable expression.

"What... are you implying that we-that you-continue?"

"If you want to," said Molly, taking a step closer and feeling rather brave, "I've found I rather like being stuffed." She grinned shyly.

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he let out an audible gasp. "Oh, Molly Hooper, you are a treasure," he growled, face breaking into a broad smile. Molly beamed right back.

"So, Italian?"

Luckily, Sherlock had Angelo on speed dial.

Within the hour, the two of them were back at Molly's flat and reclining on the sofa with several heaping boxes of assorted pastas and desserts. Molly was humming around a big mouthful of fettuccine alfredo with shrimp. Even Sherlock was tucking into his primavera with relish. Molly didn't miss how the detective's eyes drifted to her every few minutes however. She hummed in response and stretched lazily, arching her belly out before slumping back against the sofa. She smirked as Sherlock almost dropped his fork. Then he offered her more garlic bread.

She bit into it, tasting the fatty melted butter and garlic that had soaked into the airy bread. Then more fettuccine. More bread. A bit of a truly excellent lasagna and Molly was sighing and rubbing at her full plump belly as it pushed and tugged at her dress. She burped and blushed but Sherlock only chuckled and moved in closer. He fed her the rest of the lasagna, forkful by forkful.

"Doing so well," he rumbled, and Molly felt a thrill travel through her. She opened her mouth again, begging him to fill her even further. That seemed to please him as she was fed the rest of his primavera as a result. She hummed and groaned softly, feeling herself growing so very full and warm again.

"Good," Sherlock growled, his hand rubbing at her belly. Molly's breath stuttered and she looked up at him with dazed eyes. "Dessert?"

"Please," she breathed, her hand finding his as it traveled her belly, "I want more, Sherlock, please." The man's pupils grew large and dark in response. He fed her from a box of cannolis, the sweet filling coating her lips and her tongue, some falling to her chin as she crunched through the pastry's outside. She licked the crumbs and filling from Sherlock's careful fingers and the man gave a low growling groan that Molly swore she could feel reverberate inside her.

"Sh-sherlock," she gasped, looking up at him, reaching for him. He looked oddly lost, flushed, dazed. She seized him by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. Her breath caught as he moaned into her mouth and leaned into her plump overfull body. She arched into him in kind, feeling flushed and hot at the contrast between his slim middle and her huge squashy one as they met. Sherlock was shuddering and shaking, panting heavily against her neck as he kissed her again and again.

"Molly," he murmured, "Molly... Molly, God... Molly Hooper, the things you do to me!"

Molly smiled and responded with her own soft moans and gasps, encouraging him to explore her new bounty.


End file.
